Drunk on you,

I do not move, I am carried

into the current of earthly baptism,

surrendering to the serenity of serendipity

as though the river was itself my god.

Drunk on you,

I breathe in the air of Europa,

and the crescent moon of Jupiter becomes full, pregnant.

For drunk on you,

the course of the Ganges bends to the whim of man,

the Tigris our children,

the Nile the world to be.

Down the steps of the stony coliseum

the Christians become lions

the lions angels

the angels men,

given the pleasures of man

indulging,

drunk on you.

Holding one another tightly

for should the world end tonight,

they would not want to die as saints.

So the moist canopy lifts itself to the sky

and far below the jungle animals awaken.

Night comes, days pass, grass grows,

the sky falls.

And all the planet moves with one rhythm, one pulse,

as though itself an animal,

alive,

hot,

ripe,

and drunk

on you.